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I scowled at the page. She spoke the truth. My threads had changed. One was clearly intertwined with Astoria’s, the other… unraveled, severed from her.

“This one—” she pointed to the thread intertwined with Astoria’s, looking me dead in the eye, “requires you to hide the depths of what you’ve done. If you continue down this path, the curse might never be lifted. She could remain frozen in time, tied to you forever.”

I flinched. The thread tied to Astoria’s was long-lasting, but the price of my silence was her eternal curse.

“And this one—” Feo pointed to the unraveled thread, lying lifeless on the page. “Is the one where you lay down your duty and give the truth. But that path comes with its own consequences.”

I stared at the page, the threads now a clear choice before me. One path kept Astoria bound to me, but also kept her cursed. The other path tore everything apart.

“The world will not fall apart if you choose your heart,” Feo’s voice broke through my thoughts. “The threads are malleable. You have the power to make the choice.”

My jaw clenched. Everything I had ever done, every decision I’d made, led to this. The moment where Astoria’s fate was in my hands. I’d longed to separate us from the moment I met her, and now…

“I don’t need your help, Feo,” I snapped, my voice low and controlled.

“Then go,” she said, her tone almost pitying. “But know this: whichever thread you choose, it will change everything.”

I opened the door and slammed it shut behind me, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. Fate, like Fortune, was always somewhat of a romantic. And they didn’t understand the balance— like I did . They didn’t understand the burden of choice, of sacrifice, of love.

Peace was not without sacrifice, and my penance was paid.

I allowed myself to run gentle strokes through Astoria’s fiery hair.

Kissing her had been a reckless choice, one made without a thought for the future.

Yet, somehow, I cared. She had endured more heartache than anyone should in a lifetime.

I was the cause of so much of it, yet now, I couldn’t bear to add to it.

I never told her how I found James' soul—his spirit, hovering on the brink of vengeance, poised to harm her. I’d seen him then, his hands wrapped tight around her throat, rage in his eyes as he screamed at her.

“Witch! You witch! You and your damned curse!” His words were a visceral echo that I could still hear in the dark corners of my mind.

She couldn’t see him, but I could. She held onto Beatrice, standing in the middle of the road, fighting against the unseen threat.

I had burned that memory from my mind—on purpose. Not for her sake, but for mine.

A father was supposed to love his wife and protect his daughter. To keep them safe, to want nothing more than their wellbeing.

And while I had my reservations about Astoria pulling Beatrice away from me, I understood her. I understood her love for her children, her family.

She would have traded places with James in an instant if she could. I could feel it, watching her as she stood over his body. She called herself a villain, but she had no idea that I already wore that crown and had long since claimed the title. I bore her sins as if they were my own.

James had never cared for her, for their family. His attention was always on his mistress and the child she secretly carried. His final screams weren’t for Astoria or the children he had abandoned—they were for Mary.

If I had a heart, it might have shattered then.

But I didn't.

Instead, I watched as Astoria, the immortal woman who had been discarded by her husband, stood tall.

She had become a pariah, a recluse, hiding in the shadows of her son's house after James’ death.

And yet, despite the bitterness and contempt she should have felt, she had extended an olive branch to Mary and the child she had no obligation to care for.

She supported them. Moved Mary and her daughter, Josie, into a quiet home not far from Mary’s sister.

Astoria even paid for Josie to attend an expensive school, a gesture of kindness to a child born of betrayal.

Astoria, the woman who had been torn apart by her husband's lies, was the one who gave, who forgave, who loved where others would have broken. She was the first moment I ever considered that I might be wrong about humans. And it was all because of Astoria—my tempest, my curse…

I had always known what my duty was, what was required of me.

She was the price of balance, the inevitable conclusion to the tangled threads of fate.

In my world, there was no room for doubt, no room for error.

Life and death were two sides of the same coin, and I had always played my part without hesitation.

But now, in the quiet of the night, as I sat with her, breathing in the rhythm of her life, I felt something shift.

It was subtle at first, a suspicion in the back of my mind.

A reminder that perhaps not everything was as it seemed.

She had become a puzzle I couldn't solve, a contradiction I couldn't ignore.

She was a curse, yes. But she was also something more. Something that threatened the rigid order I had always clung to. I could feel it in the way she moved, in the way she looked at me, in the way she made me question everything I thought I knew about duty and balance.

And that terrified me.

I couldn't afford to feel this way. Not for her. Not for anyone. Because if I did—if I let my guard down—then what would become of me? What would become of the carefully constructed world I had built around myself?

She drew in a sharp little breath, her lashes fluttering and head tilting as if caught in a fitful dream. I watched her, a tempest in her own right and wondered what drew me to her, and why she was so different from the others…

She clung to life with an intensity I could never understand.

Love, while a worthy endeavor for those of flesh and blood, was meaningless to me.

My existence was frayed, the ends seeping into the world, tying me into that from which I came from.

Reminding me that, as much as I longed for what tormented me since the beginning of my consciousness, I could never have it.

Humans had it much simpler.

Yet even this they could not understand. With no end, and no connection, what is the point?

I envied the living, for they could die, and because they could die, they lived.

The balance had always been simple: I gave what was owed. No more, no less. Life and death, fate and consequence—they all had their place. But now, with her in my life, that place was becoming increasingly unclear.

Nothing comes without a cost. And I knew, deep down, that my cost would come soon enough. But I had no idea what it would be, or if I could survive it when it came.

And I guess that is the tragedy of it all…

Death doesn’t have a choice.